THE CESSATION OF hostilities saw major changes in the higher echelons of the Metropolitan Police; the ten-year reign of Albert Canning (now a Chief Constable) came to an end when he retired in 1946, and the newly appointed Commissioner, Sir Harold Scott, was thus confronted with an early problem – choosing a new head of Special Branch. To widespread surprise, and not a little pique among the ranks of senior Special Branch officers, he selected Leonard Burt, who had retained his status as a police officer despite his six-year stint in the Security Service. Although an investigator of proven ability, whose services had been much appreciated by MI5, Burt’s knowledge of Special Branch work was strictly limited and probably distorted by the years he had spent working with MI5’s senior officers, particularly Guy Liddell, a Director and an outspoken critic of his former colleagues in Special Branch. The appointment of Burt, with the rank of Detective Superintendent, was unexpected, since it had been the practice from the beginning of the century for the deputy head to take over from the outgoing leader. So Tommy Thompson, who had been Canning’s right-hand man for many years, continued as bridesmaid.
Lieutenant Colonel Burt’s final days as a member of the Security Service were not without excitement. In May 1945, he was tasked with escorting William Joyce (‘Lord Haw Haw’) back to England for his execution; vital evidence, without which Joyce may not have been successfully prosecuted, was provided by DI ‘Mick’ Hunt who, like so many of his Special Branch colleagues, had spent many boring hours listening to, and noting, the ranting of Joyce and his fascist pals. It was Hunt who was able to convince the jury that he recognised the voice of the man in the dock as that of the rabble rouser whom he had heard addressing countless fascist meetings before the war and later, as ‘Lord Haw Haw’, delivering his notorious propaganda broadcasts. Burt’s career as an MI5 officer was brought to a successful conclusion in February 1946, with the arrest, by DCI Whitehead of Special Branch, of Alan Nunn May for offences under the Official Secrets Act of 1911. Together with Reg Spooner, Burt had been investigating the activities of this nuclear scientist since October 1945 and it was largely due to his painstaking and professional conduct of the case that Nunn May was convicted and sentenced to ten years’ penal servitude.1
The cessation of hostilities with Germany saw the beginning of another war – the Cold War – only this time the adversary was Russia. The government decreed that all communists and fascists should be excluded from work ‘vital to the Security of the State’, an edict that led the Security Service to conclude in October 1948: ‘Our ultimate aim must be the keeping of accurate records of all members of the [CPGB].’ The Service set up a series of operations, known collectively as STILL LIFE, which enabled them to have covert access to all CP offices in Britain and Northern Ireland. Over the years thousands of documents were copied by means of these clandestine operations and by 1952 the Security Service was able to report proudly that 90 per cent of the 35,000 membership of the CPGB had been identified.2 However, this success was not achieved by MI5 unaided. A stream of STILL LIFE enquiries continued to arrive at New Scotland Yard well into the ’60s and were farmed out to junior officers ‘to cut their teeth on’. The information contained in many of these letters was extremely sketchy, frequently inaccurate and on occasion bizarre as, for example, a request for identifying particulars of one E. Bear of an address in east London; this was quickly resolved by reference to the electoral roll, which showed that E. Bear shared his home with M. Mouse and J. Spratt. However, the majority of enquiries were satisfactorily answered and proved useful training exercises for new recruits to the Branch.
On arrival at the Yard to take up his new appointment as head of the Metropolitan Police Special Branch, Burt was faced with more mundane problems than catching spies. Throughout the duration of the war there had been an embargo on new applications for naturalisation, but in September 1945, the Home Office focused its attention on the arrears of cases that had been gathering dust in its repositories for the past six years. Dealing with this vast backlog represented a considerable drain on Branch resources and as a first step an inspector was deputed to carry out preliminary arrangements. On his recommendation, the establishment of the Branch was increased by nineteen (three DIs, six DSs and ten DCs) and in December 1947 the unusual step was taken of drafting in reinforcements from the provinces. In total, thirteen officers from different constabularies were brought in and, with their help, the backlog of outstanding cases had been sufficiently reduced by early 1950 for these provincial officers to be returned to their home forces. When at full strength, this naturalisation section was dealing with 1,000 applications a month.3
Naturalisation enquiries remained a staple and necessary diet for Special Branch until the end of its days; some officers regarded the section as a dull backwater, but this was not so, as learning the most intimate secrets of famous (and not so famous) individuals could provide a most interesting insight into human nature. Special Branch has always taken pride in the presentation of its work and naturalisation reports sent to the Home Office were no exception. Gone were the days when two or three paragraphs of handwritten notes would suffice to satisfy the naturalisation department of an applicant’s worthiness to become British. Immediately prior to World War Two, reports were running to many pages of beautifully produced copperplate writing (without illuminated capital letters!) and the applicant was still quaintly referred to as ‘the memorialist’. It was not until after the war that typewriters became available to the lowly constables (very few of whom had typing skills). A further labour-saving introduction to the officers’ armoury was the photocopier, which blissfully replaced the messy and inefficient carbon paper. By 1960, an average naturalisation case would represent about three days of work, culminating in a well-presented report of some four to five typewritten pages. Naturally some of the more complicated cases would take much longer and run to twenty or more pages, as in the case of Mohamed Al-Fayed who, exceptionally, was twice refused British citizenship.
As with naturalisation, VIP protection always featured in the duties performed by Special Branch. Reference has already been made to the improvements in protection techniques introduced since the days of Sweeney, Brust and Fitch. Burt throws further light on VIP protection as performed by Special Branch officers after the war. His first experience of a ‘difficult’ VIP visit was that of Marshal Tito, President of Yugoslavia, in 1953; naturally Burt was not part of the protection team, but as head of the Branch he was responsible for the safety of the Marshal while in this country. For the first time, five senior officers under a superintendent, in this case Bill Hughes, formed a close protection team that accompanied the President wherever he went; they were supplemented by seven Yugoslav security officers, who, after some initial reticence, seemed quite prepared to ‘play second fiddle’ to their British counterparts. This was not always the case with visitors from abroad, notably the American Secret Service and, to a lesser extent, the Russians, who were adamant that they should be allowed to carry firearms. The British were equally insistent that they should not and invariably won the day, though in 1956, prior to the visit of the Russian President Bulganin and the powerful secretary of the Communist Party, Nikita Khrushchev, Burt relented and issued four firearms certificates for their bodyguards.
The Russians were not so fortunate on the occasion of their next important visit to Britain in February 1967, that of the chairman of the Council of Ministers of the USSR, A. N. Kosygin. An advance party headed by Major General Sverchkov arrived a few days prior to the visit to discuss security arrangements. The initial meeting at New Scotland Yard proceeded smoothly until the question of firearms arose; on this occasion, after an extremely heated discussion, it was the British who stuck to their guns and the Russians who lost theirs. This was no surprise as the man in charge of Special Branch protection for Kosygin was Detective Chief Superintendent Victor Gilbert, not the easiest man to beat in an argument, as surviving contemporaries will confirm.
This visit incorporated many of the features that had become a routine part of VIP protection procedures. Most obvious to the public, and invaluable from a security standpoint, was the provision of a posse of motorcycle escorts from the Special Escort Group, who not only created a physical barrier in congested areas by closing up on the principal’s vehicle but, like a knife through butter, could cut a swathe through seemingly impenetrable traffic jams. Up to a dozen motorcyclists would escort the more controversial personalities and, given suitable conditions, liked nothing better than to spread their wings and go into ‘arrow formation’ round the cavalcade. In the case of more important visits, it became standard practice for not only a back-up car but an advance vehicle to form part of the protection team; this ensured that the route was clear of obstructions and also that a member of the team was already in place when the VIP arrived at his or her destination. A dramatic improvement in communication came with the introduction of personal radios, and security was vastly improved with the provision of armoured cars (see Chapter 27 on protection).
But while all these close protection measures were being taken, other Special Branch officers would be fully engaged behind the scenes checking buildings overlooking the lines of route to be taken, vetting their occupants and establishing the movements of likely troublemakers. But as with the case of close protection, everything would be done as discreetly as possible; the Russians were astounded that demonstrators were allowed outside Claridges Hotel when Kosygin arrived there. In the Soviet Union they would all have been sent to Siberia for the duration of the visit (and maybe longer). The British way is to allow the professionalism of the personal protection team, backed by the vigilance, common sense and good humour of their uniformed colleagues, to provide an efficient, yet proportionate, level of protection; in a nutshell – to quote Burt – ‘The Special Branch goes about its job quietly and unostentatiously.’4 This method has rarely failed.
In the years immediately following the war, Zionist extremists intent on creating an independent Jewish state were resorting increasingly to terrorist tactics to press their claims, and, in 1946, MI5 received a number of reports indicating that Irgun Zvai Leumi and the Stern Gang, the two most militant groups, were contemplating attacks on targets in Britain.5 All three security services, MI5, MI6 and Special Branch, were now involved in monitoring the terrorists’ intentions, justifiably so, as on 15 April 1947 a Stern Gang member, later identified as Betty Knout(h), aka Elizabeth Lazarus, charmed her way into the Colonial Office by persuading the doorman to let her use the ladies’ cloakroom as one of her stockings was falling down. Fortunately the bomb she left behind failed to detonate, as the timing device jammed. The fact that the gelignite in the bomb was of French manufacture and that the girl spoke with a French accent pointed to a French connection and Special Branch’s DCI E. W. Jones was promptly dispatched to Paris to liaise with the French police.6 A thumbprint found on the unexploded bomb proved to be that of a known Stern Gang terrorist, Yaacov Levstein (aka Eliav), but neither he nor Knout was in France, for they had fled to Belgium, where they were arrested in possession of explosives and letter bombs. The Belgian police regarded their offences as political, which meant they could not be extradited to Britain, but they permitted a Special Branch officer, in the person of Superintendent Wilkinson, to sit in on interrogations of the couple.
Although Wilkinson was not able to have the pair charged with the attempt to cause the explosion at the Colonial Office, his collaboration with the Belgian authorities established beyond any reasonable doubt that they were responsible not only for that offence but also for sending letter bombs to prominent British politicians in 1946, which mercifully injured nobody. When Levstein was arrested he was in possession of another batch of letter bombs addressed to British ministers. The Belgian police had scanty knowledge of the Stern Gang and it was largely due to Wilkinson’s briefing that the case was brought to a successful conclusion, in that Levstein and Knout were found guilty by a Belgian court of illegally importing explosives into the country and sentenced to eight months’ and twelve months’ imprisonment respectively.7
The threat from Jewish terrorists lingered on and in July 1948, Detective Superintendent G. G. Smith, widely known as ‘Moonraker’ on account of his pronounced Wiltshire accent,8 received information from a contact suggesting that Irgun Zvai Leumi might be planning to sabotage RAF property. A Special Branch surveillance operation identified one of those involved in the conspiracy as Monti Harris, a Jewish grocer who ran his business from premises in Gravel Lane, in Aldgate. His shop was kept under continual observation by a team of Special Branch officers for three weeks, as it was suspected he was storing explosives there. Commander Burt describes events leading up to his arrest:
Harris was a hard man to follow – he was suspicious and sly. We managed to pounce on him one Saturday morning in a rather unconventional way. Five Special Branch officers and two women officers, dressed for a tennis tournament and chattering away about their prospects, jumped on a trolley bus that was taking Harris to his arsenal. There Detective Superintendent Smith arrested him.
(Note: Special Branch officers have never been lacking in innovative ideas.)
Large quantities of aluminium powder, detonators, fuses and other ingredients for making incendiary bombs were found in a search of his premises. On 14 October 1948, Harris was sentenced to seven years’ imprisonment for offences under the Explosives Substances Act of 1883. He was released on 24 July 1950 on undertaking to leave the United Kingdom for Palestine. Burt commented that, had the Special Branch operation failed, ‘there would have been a wave of incendiarism and sabotage in England’.9
At the end of the war, MI5’s team of officers on loan from the CID lost these interrogators, with the exception of Jim Skardon, but remained responsible for counter-espionage. So it was that in 1950, Burt, now head of MPSB, found himself in the unaccustomed situation of having a case presented to him by MI5, almost completed, with a confession signed by the suspect, Dr Klaus Fuchs, who had been passing Britain’s atomic secrets to the Russians from 1943 to 1947. All Burt had to do was to arrest Fuchs and present him at court; the preparatory work had been carried out by his former colleague, Jim Skardon, who had elected to remain with the Security Service as their chief investigator, but no longer retained a power of arrest. Fuchs duly appeared in court in February 1950 and was sentenced to fourteen years’ imprisonment.
Special Branch became involved in another case of espionage two years later when MI5’s surveillance of a young Foreign Office cipher clerk led them to believe that he was passing classified information to a Soviet diplomat. As soon as the Branch was informed, a surveillance team under DCI Bill Hughes was set up and the young man, William Martin Marshall, kept under rigorous observation. It was not long before a clandestine meeting took place in a Wandsworth park with a man, who at that time was unknown to the watching officers. When they were arrested, Marshall had in his possession a top-secret document; the stranger, who claimed diplomatic immunity, was identified as a Soviet diplomat, Pavel Kuznetsov. He was told to leave the country within seven days. Marshall was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment for unauthorised disclosure of classified information.10
From the Special Branch point of view, these were straightforward cases, but later breaches of the Official Secrets Acts were not all so easily dealt with; nevertheless the same procedure was followed in every instance. The ‘Portland spy ring’, MI5’s own Michael Bettaney, John Vassall – all these cases were taken to court by Special Branch after the initial breach had been discovered by MI5. It was a system that worked well and depended for its successful operation upon close cooperation between the two services, which, in most cases, was achieved. This is not to suggest that when a case was handed to Special Branch the necessary evidence had already been secured and suspects identified; normally it was only after arrests were made that the Special Branch task began in earnest. In a big conspiracy such as the Portland case (see pp. 237–9), the business of interviewing witnesses, searching premises, preserving evidence, liaison with other agencies (frequently foreign) and a host of other tasks was labour-intensive and could keep a large section of the Branch busy for many weeks.
For fourteen years the British mainland was free of concerted IRA activity, but there have always been elements within that organisation determined to secure self-determination for Ireland, and in July 1953 a group of three republicans broke into a Junior Training Corps Armoury at Felstead School in Essex and made off with a quantity of arms and ammunition. The raid was a fiasco – initially they piled so many weapons onto their old van that it wouldn’t move. When they did eventually get going, they lost their way and were stopped by a patrol car as they were travelling so slowly. The rest is history – the trio were arrested and sentenced to eight years’ imprisonment. Had they been young, inexperienced Volunteers, their bungled efforts might have been understandable, but these were leading figures in the republican movement – Cathal Goulding later became leader of the IRA and Manus Canning had been a staunch republican for many years; Seán Mac Stíofáin was a unique republican, as he was English, born in Leytonstone, and his real name was John Edward Drayton Stephenson, but his mother and wife were Irish and he became absorbed in Irish affairs from an early age. He eventually became chief of staff of the Provisional IRA.
Following another abortive raid for arms in Omagh, information filtering though from informants made it apparent that the IRA was preparing for another campaign, either in Ireland or on the mainland. In London, Special Branch feared that it would be the latter and stepped up their monitoring of Sinn Féin activities in the capital, while alerting their provincial colleagues of the heightened threat. The problem facing the Branch was that there was no IRA organisation in London and the few informants that it had were merely Sinn Féin members, who were unlikely to be privy to details of IRA schemes.
Police fears were justified, as it was not long before the IRA struck again; this time their target was an REME training centre in Arborfield, Berkshire, the date: 13 August 1955. Despite warnings for increased security, which had been sent to all army bases in the country, the raiders easily overpowered the ill-prepared guards and made off in two vans with their booty: fifty-five sten guns, ten bren guns, an assortment of other firearms and more than 60,000 rounds of ammunition. One of the vans was stopped by police outside Ascot for speeding (unlike the Felsted trio, whose slow speed led to their downfall).
On searching the vehicle, the two constables, George Kerr and George Phillips, found a mass of arms and ammunition, not a consignment of batteries which the driver claimed they were delivering to an address in London. The two occupants gave their names as Joseph Doyle and Donal Murphy, although the Irish driving licences they produced gave their identities as Richard Wall and Robert Russell. The officers had not yet received news of the Arborfield raid, which was shortly afterwards broadcast to all patrol cars, and it was entirely due to their police training and perception, coupled with the Irishmen’s carelessness and stupidity, that, yet again, the IRA’s plans were foiled. The two men were arrested and escorted to Ascot police station, where they were searched and interrogated by Special Branch officers led by DCI Williams.
Although the men remained mute, a bill found on them indicated that they had recently stayed at the Bedford Hotel, Bloomsbury, together with six other Irishmen. Other documents in their possession led Special Branch officers to 16 Winkfield Road, Wood Green, where DI Leslie Garrett arrested James Andrew Mary Murphy, who admitted being a member of the IRA.11 Extensive enquiries and persistent interrogation of the prisoners by Special Branch officers revealed that the contents of the second van had been unloaded at 237 Caledonian Road, N1. Detective Superintendent G. G. Smith led a large squad of men to this address, where surveillance was maintained during the next day in the hope that the rest of the team would return to collect their booty, which had been stored in the basement – but the birds had flown.12
The three men were tried at Berkshire Assizes in Reading and, on 5 October 1955, were each sentenced to life imprisonment for offences arising from the raid. The judge warmly commended all those, particularly PCs Kerr and Phillips, responsible for recovering the arms and bringing the prisoners to justice. The result was only a partial success for Special Branch since six of the gang had eluded them – Anthony Magan, Joseph Ryan, John Reynolds, James Garland, Pat Connor and William Roche. James Murphy only served three years of his sentence, as he escaped from Wakefield Prison in February 1959.
1 The reference to Nunn May is from Burt’s memoirs, Commander Burt of Scotland Yard (Pan Books: London, 1962), pp. 16–48
2 Security Service Archives cited in Andrew’s The Defence of the Realm, pp. 400–402
3 Correspondence regarding these matters is dealt with on TNA MEPO 3/1945
4 Burt, Commander Burt of Scotland Yard, p. 106
5 Andrew, The Defence of the Realm, pp. 352–5
6 James Barr, A Line in the Sand: Britain, France and the Struggle that Shaped the Middle East (London: Simon & Schuster, 2011), p. 337
7 George Wilkinson, Special Branch Officer (London: Odhams, 1956), pp. 204–21
8 Moonraker is a native of Wiltshire
9 Burt, Commander Burt of Scotland Yard, p. 119
10 Allason, The Branch, pp. 130–31
11 Ibid., p. 133
12 Burt, Commander Burt of Scotland Yard, pp. 114–16